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Family of Origin
Hey, Cedar, or anyone interested in FOO (Family of Origin) issues. Cedar, WHY NOW???
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<blockquote data-quote="Scent of Cedar *" data-source="post: 657836" data-attributes="member: 17461"><p><em>An uncertain Sun</em></p><p><em>eclipsed; insane, enraged, untried</em></p><p><em>Illuminate a newly ordered land </em></p><p><em>wherein that which once was Innocent</em></p><p><em>recall itself of ancient passages...</em></p><p></p><p><em>Recall a blind and savaged Child</em></p><p><em>that living, breathing...died</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>Recall a razor's nicked and crazied edge and heard, with bated breath</em></p><p><em>the tale with which its Listener</em></p><p><em>replied</em></p><p></p><p><em>I...believe you, Child</em></p><p></p><p><em>***</em></p><p></p><p>I think that is it. I cannot find the original poetry. I have worked that poem through the years. In the beginning, the Child withdrew and "slowly...slowly died."</p><p></p><p>Then, the poetry changed.</p><p></p><p>The part about believing the Child within. That change happened while I was in Family of Origin therapy. The poetry about princesses on strings and the ally, gone before them came from that therapy time, too.</p><p></p><p>Anyway, when the poetry changed, and the Child (me, of course) was heard and believed, that is when I began to be able to hear my own story and believe myself.</p><p></p><p>And so, integrity was seeded.</p><p></p><p>After that?</p><p></p><p>It was just a matter of doing this thing. Copa or SWOT, if you identify, if you find it helpful, there is more poetry.</p><p></p><p>I will post it if you feel it would be helpful. It contains disturbing, horrifying, hurtful imagery. So maybe I would not post some of it. But that is what it felt like, to have been that abused little girl that I was.</p><p></p><p>Only I did not even have that word, "abused" when I was little. I did not even know that much, when it was happening to me.</p><p></p><p>And neither did you, when it was happening, to you.</p><p></p><p>So perhaps you would not find the poetry of that time too disturbing.</p><p></p><p>You lived.</p><p></p><p>I did, too.</p><p></p><p>Now, it is just a matter of doing this thing.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>My sister called.</p><p></p><p>I picked up.</p><p></p><p>And I said what I say here about what I know and about what I see now, and how I see it.</p><p></p><p>And she said our mother had changed.</p><p></p><p>And I said she had "changed" when our father died, too.</p><p></p><p>And she blew up over the exclusion part.</p><p></p><p>And she blew up over what I said about the way my father's death was handled and continues to be handled.</p><p></p><p>And she said my brother calls there now all the time. Apparently, she and my mother are taking calls, these days.</p><p></p><p>Score one for me, maybe.</p><p></p><p>And I told her no one is so busy, is too busy to pick up a phone or to return a phone call or to acknowledge a message left, for six years.</p><p></p><p>And she blew up, again.</p><p></p><p>Said I was lying, lying about everything, and that I was sick, and that D H and I sit around and drink too much and tell ourselves stories about how we are right and good and they are not.</p><p></p><p>And I said: This is my truth. Your truth will be different. I love you too much to pretend what is happening between all of us is okay. It is not okay. This is my true thing that I know. What you know is your true thing. I just refuse to accept your truth as my own.</p><p></p><p>And I told her that if she got through it, when she got through it, I would be right here for her, and for me, and for all of us.</p><p></p><p>And she said I had never been there. That I always opt away, opt out, refuse to participate in love and in family and in responsibility for our mother.</p><p></p><p>Responsibility.</p><p></p><p><em>The same word I have used to describe what I feel for my mother. My word for what drives me regarding what I need to do for my mother. The same word that justifies spending time with her or giving her my time, my time of my life.</em></p><p></p><p>And my sister was crying and screaming and she said I was the one who taught her compassion and forgiveness and understanding were correct responses.</p><p></p><p>And she said that I was, and that our grandmother was, the only one, in all of her life, who taught her what it was to love and be loved and how could I do this to her now when her life and her marriage are falling apart <em>and when she is the one "responsible" there is that word, again, for our mother.</em></p><p></p><p>So I told her again that I loved her too much to do this that way we are doing this.</p><p></p><p>And she went silent and I thought she had hung up, so I hung up. And just before I touched the button that ends the call on a Smart phone, I heard her voice.</p><p></p><p>But I continued to end the call.</p><p></p><p>Cedar</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Scent of Cedar *, post: 657836, member: 17461"] [I]An uncertain Sun eclipsed; insane, enraged, untried Illuminate a newly ordered land wherein that which once was Innocent[/I] [I]recall itself of ancient passages...[/I] [I]Recall a blind and savaged Child that living, breathing...died Recall a razor's nicked and crazied edge and heard, with bated breath the tale with which its Listener replied[/I] [I]I...believe you, Child[/I] [I]***[/I] I think that is it. I cannot find the original poetry. I have worked that poem through the years. In the beginning, the Child withdrew and "slowly...slowly died." Then, the poetry changed. The part about believing the Child within. That change happened while I was in Family of Origin therapy. The poetry about princesses on strings and the ally, gone before them came from that therapy time, too. Anyway, when the poetry changed, and the Child (me, of course) was heard and believed, that is when I began to be able to hear my own story and believe myself. And so, integrity was seeded. After that? It was just a matter of doing this thing. Copa or SWOT, if you identify, if you find it helpful, there is more poetry. I will post it if you feel it would be helpful. It contains disturbing, horrifying, hurtful imagery. So maybe I would not post some of it. But that is what it felt like, to have been that abused little girl that I was. Only I did not even have that word, "abused" when I was little. I did not even know that much, when it was happening to me. And neither did you, when it was happening, to you. So perhaps you would not find the poetry of that time too disturbing. You lived. I did, too. Now, it is just a matter of doing this thing. *** My sister called. I picked up. And I said what I say here about what I know and about what I see now, and how I see it. And she said our mother had changed. And I said she had "changed" when our father died, too. And she blew up over the exclusion part. And she blew up over what I said about the way my father's death was handled and continues to be handled. And she said my brother calls there now all the time. Apparently, she and my mother are taking calls, these days. Score one for me, maybe. And I told her no one is so busy, is too busy to pick up a phone or to return a phone call or to acknowledge a message left, for six years. And she blew up, again. Said I was lying, lying about everything, and that I was sick, and that D H and I sit around and drink too much and tell ourselves stories about how we are right and good and they are not. And I said: This is my truth. Your truth will be different. I love you too much to pretend what is happening between all of us is okay. It is not okay. This is my true thing that I know. What you know is your true thing. I just refuse to accept your truth as my own. And I told her that if she got through it, when she got through it, I would be right here for her, and for me, and for all of us. And she said I had never been there. That I always opt away, opt out, refuse to participate in love and in family and in responsibility for our mother. Responsibility. [I]The same word I have used to describe what I feel for my mother. My word for what drives me regarding what I need to do for my mother. The same word that justifies spending time with her or giving her my time, my time of my life.[/I] And my sister was crying and screaming and she said I was the one who taught her compassion and forgiveness and understanding were correct responses. And she said that I was, and that our grandmother was, the only one, in all of her life, who taught her what it was to love and be loved and how could I do this to her now when her life and her marriage are falling apart [I]and when she is the one "responsible" there is that word, again, for our mother.[/I] So I told her again that I loved her too much to do this that way we are doing this. And she went silent and I thought she had hung up, so I hung up. And just before I touched the button that ends the call on a Smart phone, I heard her voice. But I continued to end the call. Cedar [/QUOTE]
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Family of Origin
Hey, Cedar, or anyone interested in FOO (Family of Origin) issues. Cedar, WHY NOW???
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